Caught My Eye
by his-little-troll
Summary: Sherlock finds something of Molly's after hours at the morgue and learns about her in the process.


**Caught My Eye**

Sherlock stepped back, admiring the work. Straight stitching, clean cuts, thorough investigating. Definitely Molly's work. There were none of those little imperfections that usually bothered him when he had to check the autopsy for confirmation. He'd gathered all the information he could, as well as the file he wasn't supposed to have access to. He'd just turned to leave when he spotted something pushed against the wall.

It was a small wallet, innocuous and thin on the tiled floor. It was masculine in leather and worn from at least a decade of wear. The creases were nearly white, the fold soft with years of oils passing over the cracks. Whoever owned this wallet was well overdo for a replacement. Either they hadn't the money (unlikely, since this was a room only accessed by medical staff), or the wallet was kept for medical reasons.

He checked it, surprised to find the wallet did not belong to a man after all. It had Molly's driver license, her card, her transit pass. No cash. Something round and small stuck in the corner of the flap, a dull silver catching his eye.

A ring? Tom's engagement ring?  
No. This one was simple, a band of tarnished silver. It had probably been a cheap gift, maybe from an ex or a family member? Whatever the reason, its place outlined in the soft leather revealed it was quite a treasured little gift. Had she gone into a panic over her lost wallet yet? Most people would've returned for it by now.

He pocketed the wallet as he headed out the door, the silver circle rolling around his thoughts. It didn't fit. She hadn't had any serious boyfriends for at least a decade. The ring was old, but certainly not school days old. She wasn't the type to hold on to a crushed relationship anyway. She'd moved on quickly from Tom, and only seemed mildly fazed by his flirtations. The band was too simple to be a major gift, unless it came from a poorer younger sibling. Did she have siblings? She'd never mentioned any and he'd never seen any pictures of possible relatives in her home. Of course, that wasn't unusual. He didn't have any pictures of Mycroft.

He still pondered the small ring when he knocked on her door. She'd answered quickly, flour dusting a heart covered apron as well as her nose.

"Sherlock! What are you doing here? I didn't expect you to—"

"I'd really suggest keeping a sharper eye out for your possession Molly, especially ones that have so much personal information."

She blushed under his scrutiny. He tried to soften his expression with a smile, but felt ridiculous doing so. As her hands were obviously covered in goop and flour, he set the curious wallet into her pocket, purposefully not watching the pink spread down her neck.

"Sorry, I mean, I haven't hardly had a chance to settle down since I got off work."

"What on earth are you doing in here?" He stepped into her house without hesitation. She squeaked as he passed her, hands still held up to avoid mess.

"Oh, um, it's Ari's birthday tomorrow at work so I'm making some goodies for a little get together we're having."

"Ah, yes, ok." She quirked an eyebrow at his less than enthralled response, then turned back to her work.

"I didn't think you'd be coming back here after you and Janine split."

"Well, I had to return your lost item."

"Hm. Yes, but you came in. And sat down. You're here for at least a little while."

She wasn't wearing much under her apron. He'd learned during his bolt hole days that she preferred to wander around the house in shorts and tank tops when she thought she was going to be alone for the night. Which had been surprisingly often during her engagement to Tom. Her entire disregard for her body allowed him free reign to appreciate all the revealed curves and softness usually hidden under layers and layers of jumpers and jackets. Petite, sharp shoulders and a narrow waist distracted his obsessive mind from the ring for a short time before she turned back to him.

"So, why are you sticking around today? Did you find some other girl you can't handle the idea of sex with? Am I going to regret letting you stay here when I find out you've proposed to her a week from now?"

He winced. She'd not talked to him for a solid month after the Janine ordeal. Of course, it probably also had to do with him shooting Magnusson, but at least part of her had been horrified that she could manipulate a woman's feelings so thoroughly. He didn't have to wonder why, when she looked at him with distrust in her eyes and hesitation in her smiles.

"No, no, there's no girl. I just happened to come across something in relation to you that I cannot figure out." The ring was warm as he rolled it around in his fingers, the action hidden by the bulk of his coat.

"What? You've known me for ten years, Sherlock. There can't be much you don't—" She stopped talking as soon as he lifted the ring to the light, her expression shifting from lightheartedness to surprise to anger.

"That was in my wallet. Why'd you take it out?" She snatched it from his hand, fumbling to return it to its corner.

"I wanted to know what it was."

"Why does it matter?" Arms crossed, shoulders hunched forward, legs braced. Clear sign of defense. He'd really upset her.

"I just wanted to know."

"You can't just take things from people Sherlock!" Her cheeks were red, but not in her usual pretty blush.

"You've never minded before?"

"You don't usually steal from me!"

"I didn't steal! I gave it back to you."  
"After you took it from me."

"I just wanted to know."

"Know what?" She was uncomfortably close to him. The frills of her flour covered apron brushed against his coat. Her hands on her hip and the pout of her lip told him he'd messed up. Her eyes squinted at him, studying him for signs of weakness.

"I wanted to know why it was important." He tried to stick his nose up, to say it with apathy, but her anger stabbed straight through him as always. He hated to make her angry. "I thought you might have gotten it from someone important."

"You're a right ass, you know that Sherlock?" She was still irritated, but her face moved away from his, her chest no longer brushing against his. He could breathe easier now.

"So?"

"What?"

"Where'd it come from?" She stiffened, body still.

"Does it matter? Can't you just deduce it by a smudge or something?" Her gaze stuck to the floor, arms crossed once more.

"It's old, tarnished despite care. The band is simple, plain silver. It's been well worn, just like the wallet. It's sentimental based on the circle it's left on the corner of the leather. It's cheap, but not too cheap. I'd place it in the 200-250 range. So it's more expensive than a promise ring, but less expensive than a wedding band. Certainly has some kind of commitment value." He faded off as he reached the end of the information he'd gleaned from the singular object.

"It's my mom's." She sat in a kitchen chair, lip quivering. "It was there when I got the wallet and I just left it there."

"Your mom's?" He looked at the wallet, reconsidered the masculinity of the design and the creases and wrinkles of wear. "Your mom's ring in your dad's wallet." Realization dawned.

"Yeah. It was part of his possessions the hospital gave me after he passed. I didn't know he'd kept it all that time." She sniffled, wiped messy hands against her cheek. Batter smeared under her eye. "It was the ring he'd used to propose. He told me the story all the time."

"What happened to her?"

"She left when I was a little girl."

"Why do you keep it then?"

"Because one day she might come back and I want her to know."

So much he hadn't known about Molly. How long had he known her exactly? This was going on twelve years and he'd never once asked about her family. She'd tried to talk about her dad a few times. He'd always hushed her, too afraid she'd spark sentiment like only she could. He'd regretted it now, but he couldn't pretend he wouldn't do the same thing tomorrow if she tried again.

"What do you want her to know exactly? That you kept a sign of her betrayal? That your father held on to the hope of her until he passed?"  
"That we were always ready to welcome her back."

He couldn't understand, but then, that was normal for Molly. He didn't understand how she could see all the things that nobody like about him and still ask him to coffee. Or how she could grin and make a perfectly morbid joke while she wore her cute sweaters and red lipstick. Or how she could comfort the dying or quiet the restless or still the angry. She was everything he'd never be, that he'd never wanted to be but she was always so much stronger than anyone he'd ever known.

Strong enough to love a mother who'd abandoned her.

"You are a remarkable woman, Molly Hooper." He didn't know when he'd stood, or when he'd walked over to her. He kissed below the batter caked on her cheek, salty sweetness on his lips as he caught a tear. She blushed and leaned back, still sniffling. "Now, what were you baking in here? Graduate chemist you know, I'm an excellent baker."

"That's not what Mycroft says."

"Oh, he's just jealous cause I never make him cake."


End file.
